Gods and their empires: Inside the thriving shadow industry in rural Maharashtra

What investigators are uncovering in the Kharat case goes beyond allegations of sexual abuse. Police say this points to a broader ecosystem – a shadow industry where belief is monetized, followers are controlled, and influence extends to social and sometimes political realms.

Officials and activists argue that Kharat is not an isolated individual. Across Maharashtra, similar patterns have emerged repeatedly over the years, including self-styled godmen who had achieved unquestionable authority before being accused of financial fraud, sexual abuse and psychological manipulation.

From Solapur to Kolhapur, Ratnagiri to Nagpur and even in urban areas like Pune and Vasai, these celebrities have worked in surprisingly similar ways – building networks of followers, building ashrams and positioning themselves as the ultimate solution to life’s problems.

fraudulent spiritual leader

One of the most prominent cases in recent years is that of Manohar Mama, also known as Manohar Bhosale, who amassed a large following in Solapur, Satara and Pune districts.

Presenting himself as a spiritual healer, Bhosale assured devotees that he could cure serious illnesses and resolve personal crises. Many believed that he was the incarnation of Saint Balu Mama, a claim that helped strengthen his influence in rural areas where faith traditions run deep.

His ashram, spread over 1.5 acres in Karmala tehsil, regularly attracted large crowds, especially on days like Amavasya. Devotees paid for access – ranging from basic darshan fees to premium payments for expedited entry – while others spent significantly more on rituals that promised cures for diseases such as cancer.

Over time, the steady flow of money translated into substantial wealth. Later police investigation revealed that Bhosale and his family owned ashrams and other properties including residential properties as well as parcels of land in several districts.

Yet behind the mask of spirituality serious allegations began to emerge. These include fraud, extorting huge amounts of money through false promises and sexual harassment. In 2021, he was arrested after complaints that were initially met with hesitation, with victims reluctant to go to the authorities.

Then Solapur Rural Superintendent of Police Tejashwi Satpute said that the victims will have to be persuaded to come forward. “Initially, they approached us but were not ready to lodge a complaint. After taking them into confidence, we lodged a zero FIR and took the case forward,” he said.

Police described a carefully planned system behind his operation. According to Satpute, it appears that Bhosale had supernatural knowledge about devotees – such as birth information and personal circumstances – which was allegedly collected in advance by associates to create the illusion of supernatural power.

For followers like Madha’s Vikram Waghmare, the experience was both inspiring and costly. “He accused ₹Rs 3,000 for darshan in queue, and ₹Rs 21,000 for direct access. He used to charge lakhs of rupees to cure diseases,” Waghmare alleged.

Fake ‘Baba’

If Bhosle’s influence was built on promises of treatment, the case of Sunny Bhosle – widely known as the “Chutkiwala Baba” – highlights how fear itself becomes a powerful tool of control.

Working in Kolhapur, Satara, Sangli and parts of Karnataka, he claimed expertise in removing black magic and providing quick solutions to personal problems. Large crowds used to flock to his court at Phulewadi, especially on Amavasya and Purnima (full moon days). Dressed in saffron robes and known for his fiery demeanor, he created an atmosphere of intimidation and fear. Investigators say it was not accidental. According to police, several victims reported that he would first convince them that they were under the influence of evil forces, and then offer paid rituals as the only solution.

Kishore Shinde, who was a police inspector at the time, said, “He used to scare people by saying that they were affected by black magic and then demand money for treatment.”

A raid in November 2025 revealed what authorities described as a stage setting – ritual paraphernalia, objects inducing fear, and tools used to reinforce belief.

The investigation has since pointed to a pattern of allegations of financial fraud, emotional manipulation and sexual abuse. Police also accused him of giving drugs to the victims.

In one complaint, a man alleged that after taking ₹Despite giving Rs 45,000 for the rituals, Baba not only failed to help but also ran away with his wife. Originally a mechanic, Bhosale’s transformation into a religious leader and his rapid rise underline how accessible and attractive this path can be for vulnerable communities.

Former policeman turned thug

In Ratnagiri, another person – Shri Krishna Patil, popularly known as Ram Rahim Baba – gained followers by claiming to be the incarnation of Swami Samarth.

Patil, a former police driver, turned to spiritual activities after retirement and established an ashram in Jharewadi. Large crowds used to attend his meetings, especially on Thursdays.

However, his methods were controversial. Devotees alleged that he used abusive language and insults as part of his rituals, claiming that such treatment could cure problems.

Despite the unusual practices, followers continued to believe in their powers – a reflection, activists say, of how authority becomes self-sustaining once established.

The complaints ultimately led to police action in 2017. His ashram was sealed after a raid revealed a structured setup designed to stage his appearances and rituals. Yet even after the crackdown, devotees continued to gather at the site, demonstrating the resilience of belief systems built around such figures. One follower, speaking anonymously, said the harsh language was part of the appeal. “The more he misbehaves, the faster we will get results,” the man claimed. Although these are often associated with rural areas, such operations are not limited to them.

fake doctor

In Vasai, Sebastian Martin ran a prayer center where he claimed to cure serious diseases including cancer and HIV through divine intervention. His activities attracted large crowds and drew strong criticism from rationalist groups.

Authorities eventually closed the center under anti-superstition laws, although devotees protested and insisted that the practices were genuine. Similarly, in Nagpur, Abdul Qadir – known as Qadilbaba – targeted economically weaker families by promising rituals that would bring sudden wealth.

Police later described his operation as a criminal network involving sexual exploitation and blackmail. In 2025, he was arrested in a case involving the abuse of minor girls, where families were allegedly persuaded to participate in “rituals” under the false promise of hidden wealth.

Even educated, urban families have become victims of this.

In Pune, a senior IT professional and his family reportedly left stranded ₹A group claiming spiritual links with a revered saint was swindled to the tune of Rs 14 crore over several years. The accused allegedly persuaded the family to sell properties in India and abroad, and promised to treat medical conditions that conventional treatment had failed to resolve.

Apart from these high-profile cases, several other self-proclaimed babas are operating across Maharashtra – from Thane and Palghar to Pimpri and Nanded.

Although their stories vary in scale, investigators and activists point to a consistent pattern.

working style

This process often begins by identifying vulnerable individuals – those experiencing illness, financial stress, relationship issues or infertility. In areas with limited access to health care and counselling, these figures present themselves as an immediate and accessible solution.

They then construct an image of authority through staged miracles, symbolic objects, and claims to divine connection.

Once trust is established, followers gradually become trapped in a cycle of dependency. Regular consultation, repeated rituals and emotional dependence ensure continued engagement and continued payment.

Police say the financial model is systematic. This includes fees for rituals, the sale of “energetic” objects, donations to trusts, and in some cases, the transfer of land and property.

Over time, these operations grow into organized networks involving agents and intermediaries who bring in new followers, thereby expanding both reach and revenue.

Experts say that the success of such babas lies not just in deception, but in their understanding of human psychology.

Psychologist Mukta Puntambekar explains that people facing a crisis naturally want certainty and hope – something these figures confidently provide.

Their presence, rituals and large number of followers create a perception of legitimacy. As more people express belief, social proof strengthens the cycle, reducing the likelihood of doubt.

This is often accompanied by what experts describe as “authority bias” – the tendency to trust people perceived as powerful or knowledgeable.

Over time, the involvement deepens. What starts as small payments or rituals can turn into significant financial and emotional dependence.

In many cases, victims – especially women – are isolated or manipulated, making it difficult for them to question or leave such systems.

Hamid Dabholkar of Maharashtra Andhashraddha Nirmoolan Samiti says social structures also play a role. “Women can be both carriers of superstition and victims of it. Their unequal position in society makes them more vulnerable to such exploitation,” she said.

law in place

Maharashtra has a dedicated law to deal with exploitative practices related to superstition, introduced after years of advocacy.

Despite this, enforcement remains inconsistent. Cases often come to light only after significant harm has been caused, as victims hesitate to report due to fear, stigma or belief in the power of God.

According to Dabholkar, more than 2,000 cases have been registered under the law, but the conviction rate is low, raising concerns about its effectiveness.

Activists argue that addressing the issue requires more than legal action. Awareness campaigns, better access to health care and counseling and stronger monitoring of suspicious activities are necessary. Over time, these deities often evolved into centers of influence beyond spiritual figures. With steady cash flow and large numbers of followers, they can organize people, shape opinion and, in some cases, attract political attention. Activists warn that this creates parallel power structures, especially in rural areas, where their influence can rival formal institutions. Fear and secrecy remain central to maintaining control. Victims are often told that disobedience will bring misfortune, illness, or even death – a tactic that ensures silence.

Nandini Jadhav of Andhashraddha Nirmoolan Samiti says this emotional manipulation is important. “Fear, stigma and disbelief keep victims from speaking out,” she said.

The arrest of Ashok Kharat has once again highlighted the scale and persistence of the issue.

active planning

Maharashtra Superstition Nirmulan Samiti has announced plans to hand over to the police a district-wise list of babas allegedly involved in fake activities along with supporting evidence. Members of the organization recently met Director General of Police (DGP) Sadanand Date to press for stronger implementation of anti-superstition laws. While a government resolution (GR) already makes anti-superstition cells mandatory in police stations, activists say many exist only on paper and have called for making them fully functional.